


She Was Meant to Be a Queen (Magic Made Her a Commoner)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [24]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, Culture Shock, F/M, Genderbending, Muggle world, Neglect, Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: He’d never seen the sense in getting attached to something fleeting.





	She Was Meant to Be a Queen (Magic Made Her a Commoner)

“You were meant to be a queen,” Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lord Slytherin, said. He perused her with darting eyes. “At least you look like one.”

Regina Merope Riddle bowed her head, hoping to escape her father’s disappointment. She’d never been close to her father, even though she desperately wanted his approval. He’d never seen the sense in getting attached to something fleeting. She was born with Mother Magic’s mark on the back of her neck. Regina rubbed it conscientiously.

“Stop fussing,” Tom commanded.

She dropped her hand back to her side. Her brothers and sister were lucky; they hadn’t been chosen to renew the treatise. Once every century, the Magical-Muggle Treatise was reinforced by a bonding. Mother Magic would choose a maiden and mark her. The chosen witch always lived long enough to fulfill the Magicals side of the treatise. The current Muggle Monarch chose whom said maiden would bond with to fulfill the terms.

“It’s time to get this over with,” Tom said. “You will comport yourself as a lady, Regina. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” Regina curtseyed as low as she could, and then followed her father toward the front hall. If there was anything her father despised more than Muggles, it was a Magical bonding with a Muggle. He didn’t mind Muggle-borns who earned new blood status, as evidenced by her mother (his second wife; the first had died under mysterious circumstances), but any Magical who bonded with an actual Muggle disgusted him.

Others acted like being chosen was an honor, but Regina knew the truth. It was a curse.

Her siblings rode Abraxans. She rode an Arabian thoroughbred. Her siblings learned Parseltongue and Ancient Runes. Regina learned French, Greek, Latin, German, and Gaelic. Her younger sister, Ophelia, learned to race broomsticks. She was taught to paint in watercolors. Regina wasn’t even allowed her rightful title as Heiress Slytherin. She existed in the Magical world, but she wasn’t truly part of it. Her parents hadn’t even allowed her to attend Hogwarts, insisting that private tutors were better.

What was the point in making friends that her husband would never allow her to see?

“You look beautiful, darling,” Lily Slytherin said. She smiled at Regina, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

Regina bit back the spiteful words on the tip of her tongue. Her mother was a brilliant mother, without a doubt, but not to her. Lily had escaped a horrid Muggle family herself, and wasn’t able to bear the knowledge that her eldest child would have to bond with a Muggle. Her mother had spent years fighting the truth, seeking a way to get Regina out of the coming bonding. It was all to no avail. Sometime around her sixth birthday, she had seen the fight drain out of her mother.

“You act like we’ll never see each other again,” said Regina. They wouldn’t really do that to her, would they?

“Don’t make a scene, Regina. We’re leaving,” Tom said.

Her hands trembled, but she forced them still as she smoothed her ivory gown. It was threaded through with unicorn hair and pearls. There was even a glittering tiara in her hair. Regina looked like a queen, but she felt like an unwanted one.

“I’m to be banished.” She wondered if normal people would cry. Regina didn’t know, but she had given up crying a long time ago. All it brought was red eyes, headaches, a stuffy nose, and nothing else.

“He’s a Muggle,” Lily said, nose wrinkled with distaste. “Do you honestly think he’ll let you visit? Are you that naïve, darling?” She hugged Regina. “I’d be delighted for you to visit, but it will never happen. I know Muggle men, darling. They’re brutish and controlling. Why do you think your father and I are so against this?” She cupped Regina’s cheek. “You deserve better. You were meant to be a queen.”

“Say goodbye to your mother, Regina. I expect you’ll never see her again,” Tom said.

“Goodbye, Mother,” she says dutifully. Regina wanted to point out that they could visit her. They’re Lord and Lady Slytherin! Their magic was powerful, strong enough to fool a Muggle. They could Apparate to wherever she’s forced to live and visit, even if just for tea. But Regina could tell they wouldn’t. 

Lord and Lady Slytherin hated Muggles more than their own flesh and blood. She was a living reminder that they had failed, that they had been outwitted, that they couldn’t control everything, and their lives would be so much simpler if she were tucked away where they never had to look at her again.

“Goodbye, darling.” Lily stepped away from her. “I’ll give your love to your brothers and sister.”

Tom put his hand at Regina’s waist and ushered her to the runic circle on the floor in the front hall. He didn’t give her any warning before Disapparating. Side-Along Apparation always made her feel ill, but she forced herself to hide her discomfort as they appeared in what could only be the Muggle Prime Minister’s office.

“Ah, the lady of the hour. She’s lovely!” the Prime Minister said. He grinned. “You’re a lucky man, Holmes.”

“Indeed.” Tom’s face was blank. He put the barest hint of pressure on her side and she turned her back to the room, so that the birthmark was visible. “As required of the Magical-Muggle Treatise of 1047, I present Regina Merope Riddle as Mother Magic’s chosen. You have my word of honor as Lord Slytherin that she is untouched.”

The Prime Minister spluttered. “Ah, r-right. Excellent. I-I believe e-everything is in order, then.” His face was turning redder by the second.

A pair of gentleman’s shoes entered Regina’s line of sight. “Mycroft Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Regina sank into a curtsey only slightly less shallow than the one she offered her father. This wasn’t pureblood society, she reminded herself. He wasn’t insulting her by introducing himself directly to her without an intermediary. Oh, why couldn’t Ophelia have kept her mouth shut about all that she was learning? “I’m honored. The pleasure is mine, my lord.”

A bout of sniggering drew her attention. Regina glanced up to see a lanky male, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years of age, with curly black hair and stunning blue eyes. He kept tugging on the cuffs of his sleeves. “Mycroft—a lord?” The male sniggered some more. “Oh, he’s fussy enough for it. Supercilious. Condescending. Meddlesome. My brother might be the British Government”—the Prime Minister stuttered and flushed—“but he’s not a lord.”

“She was meant to be a queen.”

The office was silent following her father’s comment. Regina stared blankly at the floor, knowing what was coming next. Not only was she being forced to bond with a Muggle, but he wasn’t even an aristocrat. She was about to bond with a Muggle commoner. And even though it wasn’t her fault, she knew her father would never forgive her.

“Goodbye, Regina.”

Regina sank even deeper into her curtsey, though her legs wanted to tremble. “Goodbye, Father.” He Disapparated without making a sound; it was worse than if he would’ve left with the force of a blasting curse.

“Please rise, Regina.”

She did so, smoothed the non-existent wrinkles from her gown, and then looked at her future husband for the first time. He was tall and thin, though not as thin as his brother. She would put his age around thirty. That didn’t matter, seeing as he’d live as long as she did—a side effect of the treatise’s bond. The Muggle Queen must like him a great deal to grant him a much-extended life. He had dark hair and eyes that saw too much. 

Regina felt like he was picking her apart.

“Your father’s not coming back,” Mycroft said.

“No, he’s not,” she agreed. Her father was never coming back. Assuming she ever had a child … if the child was magical, perhaps not even that would bring him back into her life. Her paternal grandfather abandoned her pregnant paternal grandmother and left her to die in childbirth. Her maternal grandfather became an alcoholic after her maternal grandmother died, and her mother’s sister had escaped his anger because she had her mother’s blonde hair and smile.

Lord Slytherin didn’t trust Muggle men as far as he could Blast them.

If he had been a different type of man, he would’ve insinuated himself into her life. He would’ve threatened her husband. He would’ve visited often to make sure she was being well taken care of and cherished. But Tom Riddle wasn’t like that. He severed ties with people who could hurt him, and then he cauterized the wounds and acted as if they weren’t present.

“How do we fulfill the treaty? I must accede to your expertise on Magical bondings,” Mycroft said.

She almost wished he had asked nosy questions, or continued to delve inside her with his gaze. But Mother Magic had chosen her, created her, for this purpose. There was no way out.

Regina Conjured an ornate goblet, and then breathed on it. The gold fogged. Her magic poured out of her skin in droplets, each sliding across her skin, over her fingers, and into the goblet. When it was full to the brim, she offered it to him. Mycroft cocked an eyebrow, but drank it all at once.

“I’m Sherlock. Did you poison him? It’d be lovely if you did.” Sherlock bounced on his toes. “I’m doing a study on the effects of poisons, but I haven’t tried Magical poisons on him yet. What symptoms can I expect? Will his extremities start falling off? Will his eyes rot in his head? Will—?”

“Oh, do be quiet, Sherlock,” Mycroft chided. “She hasn’t poisoned me.”

She stared at the crooked grin on Mycroft’s face and the childish one on Sherlock’s. Her magic bound her to Mycroft’s side until she died, a man who was amused by his brother’s attempts to poison him. What if Sherlock decided poisoning her would offer better results? Would Mycroft even object, or just casually locate antidotes? Would he bother to procure antidotes at all?

“Marvelous. All done, then. I’m sure you’ll be very happy!” The Prime Minister rubbed his hands together.

Regina folded her hands before her, posture erect. She wouldn’t show them an ounce of weakness. She would be the picture of decorum. She would behave as a lady was meant to, with appropriate comportment, even if her husband wasn’t her social equal. She would be polite, distant, and obedient.

Maybe that would save her from the same fate as her grandmother Merope, whom she was named for.

Her father’s mantra would have to be enough to give her strength to face the horrors that awaited her at her husband’s hands. She would do her utmost to be what her father had always hoped she would be. Diplomacy. Graciousness. Patience. Elegance. Charm. Maybe these would save her life, if not her happiness.

After all, Regina was meant to be a queen.


End file.
